Charmed, I'm Sure
by LaPoseur
Summary: My Lord Malfoy was a notorious rake, and Miss Narcissa Black was destined to be Paris' shining new jewel this season, her debut season. What will happen when Lord Malfoy is ensnared by a pair of brooding blue eyes? [[ An AU setting of the infamous couple, but now in the high aristocracy of Paris! ]]
1. The Scene is Set

My Lord Malfoy was a notorious rake. There was no gentleman in society who became 'notorious rake' quite as well as he, for he cut a dashing and impressive figure. His dress was always so impeccably youthful - as neat and fashionable as required, but thrown together with a lackadaisical air; his brow so dark, gaze so intensely penetrating, with lips more often than not curling in sardonic amusement or mocking with his lacerating wit. His behaviour was roundly scolded by every mama, scandalously admired by every debutante, and his antics were knowingly joked of by the gentlemen. His father, Lord Abraxas Malfoy, Duke of Salazar, had every notion of his son's reputation, and spoke widely and laughingly of his son's conduct. That they were never seen to socialise between them - or indeed, that they rarely attended the same functions - spoke tellingly of their natures toward one another. So long as the fortune remained intact, he was not much minded. After all, how much is there really to say between two men of different generations?

Miss Narcissa Black was the youngest daughter of Lord Cygnus Black, Marquis of Rosier, and his frivolous wife Druella. Her parents had instilled in her the same arrogance and pride in their ancestry as they had in her older sister, Bellatrix (Andromeda, who came between them, was much kinder and gentler; and did not care for society's frills, conceit and excess). Her features were exquisitely pale and delicate and her dress beautifully kept, and - true to her name - she admired in her face all the gallantry of the poets. She was about to make her debut, not realising that her entrance into society would spark enough gossip as would last for three seasons. As it was, society already awaited her. Bellatrix's debut had been glorious; her first appearance as a vision in white had quickly given way under her dark, wild personality, and that season had been an unbridled succession of giggling gossip. She was revered as a delightfully scandalous girl - never enough to bruise the Black name - and although her younger sister Andromeda had disappointed on that count, Narcissa showed all the exciting promise of the first and all of the delicious purity of the second.

The Lords Malfoy were preparing for the Black's ball. The youngest was to debut that night, and appearances had to be made on both their accounts. However, as it was the second - and, knowing the Blacks, the most exciting - debut in what was proving to be a very boring season, all of Paris was going to be there, and really, they didn't have to see much of one another. No doubt His Grace the Duke would be in the card room all evening, and his son mostly in the ballroom. Salazar didn't much anticipate any extra excitement for his circle; he and his friends were all married, their excitement stemming instead from cards and finery, and watching young bucks exhaust themselves in their melodramatic pursuits. My Lord Lucius, on the other hand, predicted great entertainment from this night. The older sister, Bellatrix - or Trixie, as the younger half of Paris knew her - had been a brilliant sport of fun for everyone, happy to flirt, dance and bestow kisses and posies at any turn. Andromeda had been deathly dull and pious, but Miss Narcissa was rumoured to be much similar in haughtiness and prettiness as Bellatrix.

As Dobbs applied powder thickly to his wig, my lord found himself considering this, and a dark smile curled his lips. Dressed richly in light gray satin, elaborately embroidered with black and silver and exquisitely fitted, Lucius' well-skirted dress cut into his figure, showing off his trim waist. His cravat was artlessly tied in the most fashionable style, with a large diamond pin nestling in the ruffles and diamonds on his buckles. The only ring he donned was his crest. Dobbs noted his master's smirk, and Lucius replied mockingly - as was his way - that he expected the evening's events to afford much amusement, and received felicitations upon what Dobbs assured him would be a vastly diverting ball.

"No doubt mademoiselle Black will be a delight to behold," Dobbs commented, and met his master's eyes in the seeing glass for a moment. The sinister twist in my lord's lips widened, and the valet thought to himself that his eyes seemed to sparkle with mockery and privately wondered if perhaps the girl were to be pitied. Sport was low this season.

Meanwhile, Narcissa stood afore her seeing glass, face poised in practised hauteur. She quirked her eyebrow at herself, lips pursing in a flirtatious line, and her handmaiden Katie affixed a single patch on her cheekbone: _The Poser_. She was, as her sisters and her mother had been before her in timeless tradition, decked in trailing white silk, her face painted immaculately in white, a minute blush of rouge on her cheeks and her lips a stark kiss of red. A string of pearls hung about her elegant shoulders, and a single white rose adorned her flawless hairpiece. Her eyes were dark, and sparkled with anticipation. As Narcissa stood, silently, motionlessly and ravenously preening her reflection, a dark figure in striped satin snuck through the door. Narcissa caught the motion in the side of her eye, and looked to her sister who leant back against the door, eyes wide with mischief.

"Trixie," Narcissa greeted her coyly, a small delighted smirk tugging at her lips. Bellatrix admired her sister's figure from the door, before moving toward her with a feline slink. Her hair tumbled, unpowdered, from atop her head, decorated with pearls to complement her sister's debut. "Cissy," her sister responded. Tearing her eyes away from the glass where they had inevitably returned, Narcissa went to her sister, hands outstretched. Cissy swatted her hands lightly away from her and brought her sister in for a gentle embrace.

"_Parfait, ma petite,_" Bellatrix said, her hands clasping the younger girl's in excitement. Narcissa received this compliment with delight, and was shortly upbraided by her mother who had bustled in and scolded them for being late. The guests were to start arriving any moment, and here they were not even ready! Get down, get down, before all Paris was upon them!


	2. Chez Noires

It was common knowledge that whenever the Blacks entertained, one would _be_ entertained. No expenses were ever spared and this occasion, Her Grace's crowning event, was no exception. In fact, tonight Her Grace had perhaps outdone herself. Their extensive rooms in Paris were decorated lavishly, decked in gold and streaming silver. Dance music gaily poured from the ballroom as the guests flowed in and out; claret, burgundy and rattafie was in abundance and the place was abuzz with the news. Young Miss Narcissa was an absolutely delicious young lady: all delicacy and manners, but with a charming coquettishness and hauteur that spoke of her relations. Her wit was demure but evident, her curtseys all charm and grace, and those eyes! How they sparkled: each murmur of praise concerning her brought a new sheen of delight, and her delicate white fan wafted in front of her dazzling smile when someone bestowed a fervent compliment. Narcissa, in short, was the very picture of what a young debutante ought to be, and each time Her Grace Druella was stopped in her duties as hostess to be congratulated on such a charming young lady, her pride swelled.

Naturally, Narcissa's family were in attendance, and when her cousin, my lord Sirius and his collection of friends (coined the 'Marauders') arrived, one could only be pleased that my lord had turned up at all. He made it no small secret that the family and he were not of a mind, but an occasion such as this one - well, one must be seen, you understand.

The small troupe of young bucks alighted from their chaise and, in good spirits, made their way into the Black residence. My lord Black led the way, and upon encountering his youngest cousin being introduced to each new member of personage in the main hall he made a great (or rather, greater than expected) leg, and greeted her jovially.

"Cuz! You know Cissy, I could hardly recognise you, you look a vision!" My lord's manner gave Narcissa to believe that he had been drinking claret for possibly quite some time, but her eyes sparkled at his words.

"Thank you, Sirius," she responded, warmer than she had intended, for his praise had thawed some of her iciness toward his manners. She glanced at his friends, and he seemed to recall himself, adding:-

"Oh yes! Cissy, allow me to introduce to you my esteemed friends! My esteemed friends," and he turned enthusiastically to them - swaying but a little - "this is my youngest cousin Miss Narcissa Black. This is Mr Lupin, Earl of Shack," and a kind looking gentleman with heavy eyes made a very elegant and langourous bow, "Mr Pettigrew," a short, rounded man made a passable attempt at a florid leg, "and my very good man, Lord Potter, Marquis of Peverell." A tall man with dark eyes and a quizzically amused brow then looked upon her with an eye that affronted Narcissa in its inattentiveness, and smirked but a little. My lord Potter did not hesitate, but took her hand and bowed low over it, meeting her eyes with an almost mocking gleam.

"_Enchanté, mademoiselle. _Your most obedient," he offered, his voice almost imperceptibly laced with irony, and his eyes lingered but a little before turning brusquely to Black and asking with a wide, mischievous smile, "Faro?" Whereupon, three of them dissipated into the crowd. My lord Shack turned to her and made another languidly graceful and deferential bow, which Cissy returned, before melting away into the crowd.

Narcissa felt her pert lips frozen in their position. Had my lord Potter been mocking her? She could not tell, and Trixie - who had averted her attention in favour of a nearby Earl Lestrange when Sirius and his posse had arrived, on the account that she could not stand them - had not paid attention in the least. Trixie, now affirmed of their absence and took Cissy's arm once more.

"La, I know they must be here but could not he at least confine himself to society more suited to himself?" She complained, shaking her curls out impetuously. Narcissa would have responded, had it not been for Trixie who in the next moment, drew in a deep breath of excitement. "Oh my love, the Lords Malfoy have come at last. And so they should, for 'tis the biggest event of the season, but Cissy! Is not my lord Lucius a fine specimen?" Bellatrix giggled as they watched the two men slowly approach amidst the throngs of people milling about.

His Grace Salazar stopped his son momentarily as they strolled through the bustling personages, and said impassively, "Try not to ruin her just yet, Lucius." His son smiled unashamedly, turned to his father and inclined his head very slightly.

"Not just yet," he repeated, and his father gave one short huff of amusement. Together, they moved forward to greet the two sisters. Bellatrix flirted with both the lords Malfoy as they neared, and greeted them delightedly.

"Your Grace, my Lord, how delightful it is to see you once again. You must be dreadful irked, travelling here together." The Malfoys gave light mirth, and expressed their joy at attending. "And now," Bellatrix continued, "may I present to you, my debutante sister Miss Narcissa Black," and Cissy made a very pretty curtsey, her eyebrow quirking in coquettish mischief. "My love, may I introduce His Grace the Duke of Salazar," the elder man in question bowed low over her hand, "and his son Lord Malfoy." The younger man, with a dark brow at odds with his light dress, met her eyes and was surprised by their intense blue. Once again, Cissy found herself faced with a strangely mocking expression, and experienced a very odd sensation of symmetry as he, like his father, bowed over her hand. He met her eyes and said in a soft voice, almost menacing,

"_Enchanté,_ _mademoiselle._ Your most obedient."


	3. Narcissa Makes A Picture

Narcissa was dazzled. She was walking the minuet with one Mr Diggory, who was fair handsome and much admired for his pretty speeches. He was charming, and had made some lovely comment about her eyes when he had asked for the pleasure of her hand for the next dance. About the room, people were looking at her, and where other - lesser - girls might have cowered from the attention, she thrived. She delighted in it; it fuelled the excitement that emanated from her and each new pretty piece of praise, each flirtatious remark or complimentary aside stoked the sensation. Tonight was about her, and she demanded attention with every precise movement of her lips, brow or delicate hand or foot. Decadently shod, she knew that she sparkled (and no small number of men had noted it whilst dancing or in conversation) and she showed herself off to the greatest pleasure of her family. As she trod the dance, she and her partner kept fair conversation, and she unashamedly drew him in with enticing glances and coy smiles. Perfection, she often thought, cannot be achieved without both natural talent and practise, and - since she had obviously been blessed with the talent of striking beauty - she had practised enticement and loveliness for years. Her intent was for half of Paris to be besotted with her, and the other half to be spitting with envy.

My lord Potter sat at the cards table with his friends, listening to Mr Pettigrew discuss politics. His luck was terribly out tonight, but he never played high with his present company so he was not overly bothered. Truth be told, his mind was not wholly on the game: the door to the ballroom was open to allow passage for guests, and Miss Narcissa was dancing with Diggory. He had not intended to notice, but he had caught sight of her - resplendent in her white debutante attire, foot poised and her face aglow with delight. She cut such a pretty figure, and the picture was flawless. His eyes were drawn involuntarily, and his hand momentarily checked as he sorted his cards. Earl Shack, noticed this and followed his line of sight. Just as Peverell composed himself and set down his card, he noticed the debutante that seemed to captivate his friend. Leaning forward to take his turn, he smirked and addressed the table at large: -

"The Blacks do know how to entertain, do they not?" The three murmured general assent, and Peverell looked up and met his eye for a moment, one delicate eyebrow raised in wry humour. He continued, keeping Peverell's eyes, "And Miss Narcissa: quite a beauty, do you not agree?" Pettigrew made a noise of much concurrence from behind his glass, Sirius sniffed with a vague response of "Best out of the three of them" and Peverell's lips drew into a little smile as he responded.

"Think you might set your cap, Shack?" Shack laughed mirthlessly.

"Not I; seems like there'll be fierce competition. I'm not one for such bloodsport." The table and a few of its satellites laughed, before Shack added, "Much more your area of expertise I would have thought, Peverell."

"Well and indeed it usually is. But if you'd prefer the chit, I daresay I shall hang back for your benefit."

"Ah: my friendship is so treasured by you?"

"Remus, you are a delight to the eyes and ears, and always so mannered. How could I not?"

"My lord," Shack only responded, inclining his head with irony. After a moment or two of silence - between them at least, for the room was full of hearty laughter and drinking - Black leaned in and addressed his associates.

"Don't look now, but I see a Snivel." Peverell quirked one eyebrow with an expression of sport unrealised. Pettigrew perked up and cast his eye about. "I said don't look now, man, what are you about?" Black laughed at his short friend. Pettigrew quickly restored his interest in the game,, his brow furrowing as he hastily picked up his glass. Peverell eyed his compatriot and sniffed decisively.

"Pettigrew, you're nearly out of burgundy. Pray, let me fetch you some more," and with that rose, straightening his crumpled satin. He was stopped by a sober word from Shack.

"James." Peverell met his friend's pointed, almost resigned glance. "Be quick about it. I'm in a mood for gaming." Peverell swept him a beautiful leg.

"As am I, treasured one." And with that he sauntered away, a mischievous glint in his eye. His gaze raked the gaze as he walked. He was sadly disappointed until his return, with bottle, from the exercise gave him sight of a sour-faced man making apparently distasteful small talk with two unsavoury gentlemen, Mr. Crabbe and Mr Goyle. Only slight gentry, but they excelled at mixing in beneficial company, no matter how much that company wished they would not.

With a renewed swagger in his stride, Peverell approached the three men and made a magnificent leg as he greeted them boisterously, "Gentlemen, what a pleasure!" The irony was lost on Crabbe and Goyle, but struck the other gentleman most obviously.

"My lord Peverell, you flatter us," he drawled, giving him a much more demure, even stiff bow. "I see your usual company at a table in the corner," he continued, gesturing lazily, "would not you prefer to exchange wits with them?"

"And deny myself the very joy of your enlivening humour? I think not," Peverell responded, a wry smile curling his lips and revealing his teeth. Likewise, the gentleman to whom this was directed bared his teeth in a sort of smile, but the expression was so acid that it fell from his face shortly and gave its recipient much amusement.

"I think though, my lord, that you carry a bottle of burgundy for their enjoyment my lord? I would not deny them the pleasure of your company for mine. Pray, do not worry. No such enlivening wit is present in this conversation, you may return to your cards table free of regret." Peverell smirked and made another bow.

"Against such touching concern for my friends, how can I refuse? Gentlemen, until next time." The three bowed in farewell.

As Peverell reached his friends once again, he refilled Pettigrew's glass, topped up his own, and set the bottle down. Shack looked at him drily.

"Anybody interesting present, Peverell? Your move." Peverell took up his cards, glanced momentarily at the table and set down his move before responding.

"Not as far as I could see. Although, I did bump into a most interesting personage on my way back-"

"And how is our dear Snape?" Interrupted Shack, perusing his hand and choosing his play.

"As ever, treasured one. As ever."


End file.
